She kissed him again, then rested her head on his shoulder. “How bad was it? From the news reports, it looked awful.”

“Nobody died,” he said. “Which was a miracle. That fucking asshole threw fucking dynamite into fucking traffic.” She pulled his tie free of his collar, the movement more caring than sexual. “Ten people were taken to the hospital. Three serious, one critical. The critical one wasn’t in the blast. She was shot.”

“The minivan owner.”

“Yeah.” Tom wasn’t sure what the news had covered and what it hadn’t. He’d been too busy at the scene and then in a marathon team meeting in Raeburn’s conference room. “He was in too much of a hurry to double-tap her like he’s done with his other victims.”

She unfastened the top buttons of his shirt, allowing him to breathe. “At least you found her in time.”

“True.” Two of the cars tailing DJ Belmont had finally managed to get free of the traffic disaster, only to find DJ in the wind once again. He’d abandoned the Honda Civic that he’d stolen from Kathy McGrail on Saturday night and taken the woman’s minivan.

“Do you know where he is?” she asked cautiously.

“No. He ditched the minivan for a laundry truck, then traded that for a really old pickup without GPS. He’s in the wind. Again.”

“He was so close,” she murmured. “Just around the corner. Karl and Irina knew Mr. Smythe, but only to wave when they were out walking.”

“His wife is angry.”

“I can see why,” she said.

“Not with DJ. Well, not only with DJ,” he amended. “She’s furious with Karl and Irina for welcoming ‘troublemakers’ into their home.”

Liza immediately scowled. “What the hell?”

He shrugged wearily. “I know. It was a very unpleasant conversation. She arrived home when I was still at her house, before I got called to the scene of the blast. She was . . . incensed.”

“She’s in shock, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, but I’m not looking forward to the interviews she’s already threatening to give to the news. Karl and Irina don’t deserve any of that.”

“Should we warn them?”

“Raeburn will, so that it’ll be official and on the record. He’s supposed to call them tonight.”

“I think he did already. Karl excused himself from the movie to take a call right about the same time that I heard you opening the garage door.” She stroked his hair off his forehead, gentle little caresses. “There was also a report about a disturbance at another house nearby. A robbery with several homicides. The reports didn’t say it was DJ, but it was, wasn’t it? Was that the call you got from Croft this morning?”

He nodded. “The homeowner’s a leader in the Chicos.”

Her eyes widened. “DJ’s tattoo that Abigail saw. Is that where DJ got the dynamite?”

“And several rifles and handguns and ammo.” He sighed. “I didn’t know the news was reporting that. Normally I’m on top of coverage, but today it’s been one thing after another. What else are they saying?”